


Trinity Prep

by Zombiiewrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1488460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombiiewrites/pseuds/Zombiiewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiel!AU. Dean is the Dean of the all boys High School Castiel attends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

Castiel shifted uneasily in the overly plush chair he was currently drowning in, eyes darting from left to right while his fingers gripped apprehensively at the wooden armrests on either side of him. 

Newton’s cradle sitting atop a recently varnished, mahogany desk; various degrees and academic awards lining the eggshell finished walls; and a navy blue blazer tossed carelessly over the back of a vintage, leather armchair that probably cost more than a year’s tuition. 

This wasn’t Castiel’s first visit to the Dean’s office nor would it be his last. 

As a senior at Trinity Preparatory, an all boy’s high school, Cas was sure his permanent record was filled to the brim with a multitude of reasons as to why he ended up in the Administration office as often as he did: untapped potential, absent mother and father, the silver spoon. It didn’t help that he came from a long line of Novaks, all of which had graduated from the very same school he was currently attending. Yes, even Gabe had somehow managed to gain enough last minute credits to earn his diploma; Cas still wasn’t convinced it was through entirely legitimate means.

"Mr. Novak," a disembodied yet familiar voice called, "this is the third time this month you’ve been in my office. You know this isn’t one of those five visits and the sixth one’s free, right?" There was a hint of humor in his tone but he didn’t seem especially pleased. 

Castiel instinctively stiffened when Dean breached the previously quiet office and straightened up in his seat once he seated himself across from him with a subtle huff. While the Dean rolled up his sleeves and rebuttoned them at his elbows, Castiel took the opportunity to give his superior a once over. Like the student’s, Dean dawned his dark blue slacks, white button up, and red tie but as far as Cas was concerned, he definitely filled it out better than his peers. 

"I assure you, I was kicking and screaming the entire way here," Castiel joked, the faintest of smirks gracing his lips. He made brief eye contact with the other man, as if to punctuate his words, but broke it as quickly as he’d initiated it. 

Dean let out a breathless laugh through his nose and shook his head before folding his hands atop the desk and leaning into it. “So,” his voice always deepened in pitch when he tried to get down to business, “on top of the tardiness, it says here that you’ve been skipping P.E. too. What’s up with that, Cas?” 

 _Cas._ The nickname alone made his stomach flutter but hearing it spill from the Dean’s lips gave him full on goosebumps. He’d started calling him that somewhat recently—when Castiel’s visits started becoming more frequent. Initially, Cas thought it was some poor attempt at “trying to be hip with the kids” but over time, he grew to like it.  _Crave_ it, even. 

"I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not exactly built for football," Castiel stated bluntly, a bored look in his hooded eyes. 

 _'Oh, I've noticed,'_ Dean mused inwardly, licking his lips once and averting his eyes in the nick of time—not that Dean needed to look to appreciate the fine, young specimen that was Castiel Novak. He had that gorgeous face and every inch of that lithe, eighteen year old body archived away in his mind. Once his eighteenth birthday had rolled around, the flood gates had opened so to speak. They’d actually opened up a long time ago but now that he was legal, the water was no longer polluted with guilt, shame, and images of Chris Hansen. 

Cas wasn’t scrawny by any means but he was a bit smaller than the other boys his age, and Dean knew Coach Ellen’s version of touch football tended to have a lot more tackling and bruised ribs than academic regulation permitted. 

"Right," the Dean managed to get out before clearing his throat, "well, I suppose we can work something else out then, hm? Maybe a short essay about the latest NFL safety controversy and a couple laps around the campus?" Dean proposed, offering his bright-eyed student a kind smile. He knew the kid was fucking brilliant and that this would be a cinch for him; plus, Cas was a senior and as far as he could tell, football wasn’t exactly in his future.

"I can do that," Castiel agreed after a brief, considerate pause. There was another silence between them followed by a seemingly innocent question that for some reason shot straight to Dean’s cock. 

"So, do I have detention?" 

He didn’t know what it was—the slight inclination of that honey-whiskey voice, the way he stuck out that pouty lower lip and batted those eyelashes, the fact that it sounded like the start to some terribly cliche student-teacher porno. Whatever it was, it rendered Dean temporarily speechless and desperate to reroute the blood that was currently rushing between his legs.

 _'Is he doing this on purpose? I wonder if those are contacts. I bet he uses Burt's Bees—those lips are fucking ridiculous,'_ Dean thought as the left hemisphere of his brain took it’s sweet ass time reactivating his basic speech skills. 

"No, that’s not necessary. Just bring your essay to my office by end of the day Friday. If that’s alright with you, you’re free to go," Dean finally said, still wearing that barely-there smile. 

"Perfect," Cas returned his expression with a toothy grin of his own and stood from his seat with his backpack hanging loosely over one shoulder. "Thanks for accommodating for me, Mr. Winchester. Have a good one," Castiel added just as he turned and started towards the door. 

Dean waved the student off and forced himself to look down at his desk as Cas walked away but found his head practically snapping up when he heard a blunt  _glunk_ against the carpeted floor. Naturally, he looked up in time to watch Castiel gracefully bend over to scoop up the fallen cell phone. 

His emerald eyes raked over the firm, round ass that was practically on display for him, admired how perfectly the uniform pants framed the curve of his thick thighs, and watched the subtle wiggle of his hips when he started to roll back up. If his mouth wasn’t dry by the time Castiel picked himself back up, is most certainly was after he had cast him an over the shoulder glance, cheeks tinted in pink, and plastered on this nervous yet equally breathtaking smile. 

Dean didn’t snap out of his reverie until his office door clicked shut. All he could muster was a weak, “son of a _bitch,”_  before dragging his hand over his face and plopping back against the chair with a breathless smile.

This was going to be the longest Quarter of his life.


	2. Friday

Castiel drummed his fingers against his stomach as he slumped back in his chair, silently watching the Dean from across the desk. He watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read through his essay, noting how his jaw relaxed every time he reached the end of a paragraph. 

As promised, Cas had shown up after his Friday classes with his essay in hand. Coincidentally, his final class of the day had been Physical Education and as promised, he had dressed out and completed his laps.

Dean didn’t know if all of his years spent in education had made him a genius or if he was simply born that way but the minute Castiel strode in in those cute, red shorts and loose, white tank top, he knew that asking him to come in after his last period—which he knew was P.E.—was probably the best idea he had ever had. 

He had half a mind to request Castiel read the essay aloud just so he could admire his lightly-muscled biceps and prominent collarbones without judgement but ultimately decided against it. Filling his head with unsexy thoughts had taken long enough following their last meeting and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. So, he sucked it up and read about the correlation between concussions and early death in NFL athletes. 

Cas spent the five minutes of silence memorizing the constellation of freckles on the Dean’s cheeks and wondering what the inside of his mouth tasted like. 

"This is…really good, Cas. Thorough. I’m impressed," and he was. Dean half expected Castiel to get lazy and throw something together last minute—since it was just P.E.—but what he had turned in was high-quality work. 

The compliment grasped Castiel’s attention rather abruptly, successfully snapping himself out of his daydream. He blinked and his lips twitched up at the corners in response before he uttered a sincere, “thank you.” 

"And I see you did your mile," Dean acknowledged, motioning in his direction with his hand. It was obvious by the glistening film of sweat covering every inch of flawlessly exposed skin and his shallow inhales and exhales. 

"Yeah, fast too! I figured you wanted to get your weekend started as badly as I did," Castiel replied as he scooted his chair a bit closer to the desk so he could lean against it. 

_'Cute and considerate? This kid's going to be the death of me,'_ Dean mused, trying unsuccessfully to hide the adoring smile he knew was plastered over his face. 

"Big plans?" Dean asked casually. 

"Not especially. Just looking forward to sleeping in," Castiel said honestly, flashing the Dean another quick smile. "You?" 

"My brother and his wife are coming down from California. They’re always good company so it should be a pretty relaxed weekend," Dean answered, turning the only photo frame on his desk around and tapping the plastic lightly. 

The photograph was of Dean—granted he appeared a few years younger—standing next to a behemoth of a man that he could only assume was his brother—both wearing tuxedos, an attractive blond woman in a wedding dress, and an adorable golden retriever at their feet. 

"This is like…a stupidly perfect picture. If someone just handed this to me, I’d think it came with the frame," Castiel commented, still looking over the photograph enthusiastically. 

Dean snorted out a laugh and reclined slightly in his seat. “Yeah, Sammy definitely knows how to pick ‘em,” Dean commented offhandedly, distracting himself with a loose thread on one of the buttons on his shirt. 

"Your brother’s cute too. Not really my type but handsome, nonetheless," Castiel mentioned, placing the photo back onto the desk and turning it back so it was facing Dean. 

That certainly got Dean’s attention. 

"Oh? What’s your type?" Dean blurted out without much of a second thought. It didn’t hit him until a few seconds later how inappropriate the nature of the question actually was. Granted, conversations with Cas felt more casual and relaxed that most dates he’d ever been on but this was a  _student_ he was talking to. However, before he could remedy the words he’d just uttered, he was cut off by Castiel’s playful response.

"Hm, well the one in the middle  _definitely_  has my attention,” Cas said without hesitation. He was already standing and gathering his backpack. “The one without the hair and the collar,” he clarified with what Dean now considered to be the cutest laugh he had ever heard in the history of anything ever. 

Once again, Castiel had left him speechless. 

"Although, he could probably pull off the latter," Cas added with a smile that just reeked of false innocence. "See you around, Mr. Winchester." 

A wave and a click later, Dean released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and stared at the door with his jaw slack and his pants about ten times tighter than when he’d put them on that morning. 

He’d learned two things that afternoon: football helmets are useless against most offensive attacks and that Castiel Novak is a kinky, little shit. 


	3. Wednesday

Needless to say, Dean's mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of a certain blue-eyed brunette for the length of the weekend and deep into the following week. As much as he had enjoyed the weekend with his brother and sister-in-law, he found himself actually eager to return to work.

Honestly, he was a little bit disappointed when Castiel didn't make an appearance on Monday but sure enough, by the time Wednesday rolled around he found himself staring into those burning sapphire eyes once again. Well, one of them anyways. 

"Okay, slow down and explain one more time. Why did Uriel hit you?" Dean was already guiding Castiel out of his office and down the hall towards the nurse's. It was after school hours so most of the staff had already filed out but part of being the Dean of a high school meant knowing the ins and outs of the entire administration, which included first aid.

"He bumped into me in the hallway, I mumbled something under my breath, he shoved me against some lockers, and gave me a parting gift," Castiel repeated, still covering his eye with his palm even as he hopped up onto the medical table. 

"Move your hand," Dean directed. His voice was soft but Castiel could tell from the way that he was gnashing his teeth that he was anything but happy. 

Reluctantly, Castiel dropped his hand to his side and winced slightly at the feeling of the alcohol-soaked cotton ball being dabbed against his brow. There was a cut there, probably from one of Uriel's rings, in addition to some pretty severe bruising but fortunately, Dean was being mindful of how tender the skin had become. In fact, just about everything he did was pretty gentle--from the application of the disinfectant to the way he placed an ice pack in his hand and guided it up to the affected eye. 

He was quiet throughout most of the process but once he'd pulled away and given Cas a once over, he finally broke the silence. "Keep the ice on it for a little longer. It will help the swelling go down," he directed with a sigh, finally withdrawing his hand and raising his eyes to the younger man's face. 

Castiel's breath caught in his throat when he was met with Dean's hardened worrisome stare. He'd always thought he was the master of the "puppy dog eyes" but Dean was currently challenging that and then some. 

"It's not a big deal," Castiel reassured. The ice pack crinkled beneath his fingers when he shifted and tilted his head back further. Something in his tone hinted that this was not the first time this had happened.

While he tried to get comfortable, one of his knees brushed against Dean's outer thigh and only then did he realize how close they were. By the looks of it, the feather-light touch had given the Dean the same realization. However, instead of stepping back like Castiel had anticipated, Dean reached up and cupped the side of his face that wasn't being covered. 

The moments in between the initial touch and when Dean's lips pressed against his own were a complete blur. It had taken a couple of seconds for Castiel to react but once he'd allowed himself to, instinct took over. 

The brunette pressed back into the kiss and nudged his nose against Dean's to gain some leverage against his upper lip. They alternated between gentle, overlapping kisses and sporadic pecks while Castiel pressed his knees closer to keep Dean in place between them. Meanwhile, the hand that was not grasping the ice pack roamed over the older man's chest adventurously, fingers sprawling out against the well-defined muscle there beneath his thin button up. 

Encouraged by Castiel's response, Dean grew bolder in his affections. The hand previously cupping the younger man's cheek had slid to tangle in his coarse, brown hair while the other soothed up and down his thigh habitually. They both inhaled sharply through their noses as they parted and tentatively locked eyes. 

Cas grinned and shuddered when he felt Dean's stubbly jaw scratch against his cheek, the spot instantly soothed by the warmth of his breath. "I shouldn't have done that," he sighed; despite his words, there wasn't an ounce of regret in his voice. 

"If you're referring to the part where you stopped, then yes. You definitely shouldn't have done that," Cas replied smiling, hands still awkwardly tensing against Dean's chest and roaming down his side. 

Dean caught Cas' hand just before it reached his belt buckle and flashed him a flushed smile through his dense eyelashes. "Cas," his voice was firm, warning, and playful all at the same time. "I'm not saying no. I'm saying not here and not now," Dean said finally, pecking his lips once more and taking that step back he probably should have taken ten minutes ago. 

"You realize that's the equivalent of a parent telling their child 'maybe' when they ask for a toy, right? Maybe always means no," Castiel pointed out with a bit of a huff, still holding the ice pack--which was starting to become more pliable--against his eye. 

"Guh, Cas. Couldn't you have gotten your point across without reminding me how much older I am than you," Dean grunted out with a light laugh, not entirely joking. 

"Hey, I told you you were my type, didn't I? I'm not ashamed and you shouldn't either," Castiel continued, slowly lowering the ice from his face. The skin there was still puffy and pink--not to mention freezing--but at least he could blink again. "Come on, you have to admit this is kind of hot. You can't stand there and tell me this isn't like some fantasy of yours. Would it help if I called you 'Dean' during?" Cas let out bluntly, trying to salvage whatever it was they had just shared with raw flirtation.

"That...wouldn't be as weird as you think," Dean acknowledged with a smirk, snatching up the ice pack and placing it back in the freezer beneath the bed. 

"Huh?" Castiel replied, his face contorted in slight confusion--eyebrow quirked and lips parted contently. 

"My name is Dean. Did you just assume there was a spelling error on my office door or what?" He breathed out a laugh and rolled up his sleeves while Castiel stepped down from the table and went to go examine his face in the mirror hanging near the door. 

"Dean Dean?" Castiel practically snorted. "Alright, Mr. Winchester will have to do," he concluded, fussing with the small bandaid that Dean had placed diagonally across his eyebrow to cover the small laceration.

"Stop messing with it," Dean muttered, lightly smacking one of Cas' hands away from his face. "I'll go ahead and call Uriel in tomorrow so we can discuss what happened--from his point of view," Dean reassured, not wanting Cas to think he would let something like this slide. He was more inclined to believe Castiel's telling of the story but he was required to get both perspectives for the sake of making an educated decision. 

"I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I might have broken his nose, then," Castiel murmured nonchalantly, still peering at his eye in the mirror and making no effort to look Dean's way. 

Dean blinked when Cas revealed what he had left out earlier and let out a deep sigh through one of the many smiles he'd been trying to stifle that afternoon. "You're such a brat," was what came out but inwardly, all he could think was,  _'that's my boy.'_ Uriel's parents would undoubtedly be asking questions; he couldn't say the same for Cas' but he wouldn't be surprised to hear from one of his older brothers. 

"We'll try and knock this out before Spring Break. If your head doesn't stop hurting, make sure you go to the doctor. In fact, just don't go to sleep tonight. All that stuff you wrote about concussions is still kind of freaking me out," Dean let out, lips turning upwards at the corners. Despite the attempt at diluting his worry with humor, there was genuine concern laced within those emerald eyes--concern for  _him._  

"Hm," Castiel smirked, "I might need help staying awake then," he finished, already fishing into his back pocket for his phone. 


	4. Wednesday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so much an actual Chapter as it is fan-service. ;)

It was about fifteen minutes after nine when Dean’s cell phone chimed. The mobile vibrated against the glass of the coffee table beside his feet, sounding off until he reached over to retrieve it while simultaneously muting the television. 

He didn’t know why he was surprised to see Castiel’s name on the lock screen. After all, it wasn’t like he had been checking it habitually throughout dinner or anything—of course not. 

A smile graced his lips when he read the text on the screen, eyes wrinkling at the corners when he breathed out a laugh through his nose. 

_"Castiel: Hi Dean Dean."_

_"Dean: Hey Cas. How’s the eye?"_

Dean slumped back against the armrest of the couch and propped his feet up on the opposing one while he awaited Castiel’s reply. He refocused his attention on the screen when his cell rumbled in his hand and nearly dropped it straight onto his face when he was met with not a text but a photo. 

It was a quick shot of his face, arms extended towards the lens and a faint smile resting on his lips despite the slight discoloration around his eye. He looked like he was laying back against a bedspread which gave Dean all sorts of filthy imagery; he could only imagine what kind of things that boy did in that bed. However, not two seconds later, another message came through.

__“_ Castiel: It’s not that bad, right?” _

_"Dean: No, it looks a lot better than it did earlier."_

Dean tried to play it cool, still too distracted to entirely let his guard down on account of Castiel’s status as a student, but the simple back and forth was exhilarating in its own way. Even though it was rather impersonal, it kept his attention. 

_"Castiel: Okay, now it’s your turn. ;)"_

_"Dean: What?"_

_"Castiel: Send me a photo."_

_"Dean: You’re joking, right?"_

_"Castiel: Does that winky face look like I’m joking?"_

_"Dean: I’m not sending you a selfie."_

_"Castiel: Oh my god. You don’t know how to switch the camera around, do you? I can walk you through it, old man. Don’t worry."_

Dean wasn’t usually one to fall for provocation but he knew that if he didn’t nip this in the bud while it was still fresh, Castiel would keep pestering him about his age. 

Castiel laid across his bed on his stomach, kicking his feet back and forth idly while waiting anxiously for Dean’s response. He wore a wicked, little grin on his face when he saw the ellipsis bubble disappear and reapper, signaling that Dean was typing and erasing, but it soon faded when the other’s message finally did go through. 

_"Dean: I don’t need to switch the camera around to take a photo."_

And he most certainly didn’t.

Castiel could literally feel his face heat up at the sight of Dean’s photo. It was a mirror shot—which he would normally consider kind of douchey—but those defined pectorals and prominent oblique muscles more than made up for it. 

_"Castiel: That is just ridiculous."_

_"Dean: Good ridiculous or bad ridiculous?"_

_"Castiel: I-want-to-eat-sushi-off-of-your-stomach ridiculous."_

Dean snorted at that and plopped back onto the couch with a smile, half tempted to throw the ball back into Cas’ court just to see what he would send him next with a little enticement but one more look at his previous photo convinced him otherwise. 

_"Dean: Raincheck on that one. :)"_

_"Castiel: I’ll hold you to that."_

_"Dean: Unfortunately, those of us without a potential concussion need to get some sleep. I have an early meeting tomorrow with Uriel’s parents."_

_"Castiel: :("_

_"Dean: That face might work in real life but not through text. You can try your luck tomorrow. Goodnight, Cas."_

Castiel smiled bashfully at the last comment, feeling so overwhelmed with a mixture of excitement and adoration at that very moment. He sighed and read over their last couple of messages once more before rolling onto his side and reluctantly saying his goodbye as well. 

_"Castiel: Night, Dean Dean."_


End file.
